I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Reflections

  • gold, frankincense and myrrh with a 21st century twist

    gold, frankincense and myrrh with a 21st century twist


    I’m a basic Bah, Humbug Christmas person and have been for years. I’m not clinically depressed during the holiday season, but neither am I joyful. I resist the pressure to shop ‘til I drop, but that isn’t limited to a particular time of the year, either. I’m considering the possibility I may suffer from borderline Scrooge disorder or at a minimum, Holiday Harrumphs.

     I miss my family at Christmas, the family that defined Christmas for me as a child. That family is gone as that time and place are gone, but the child inside me mourns their loss every time I hear “Silent Night” and other carols sung during this time of the year. We were musical people and much of our holiday revolved around music in our Southern Baptist churches where my mother was always responsible for the Christmas Cantata. Sometimes she played the piano for it so my dad could lead the church choir and sometimes she drafted another pianist so she could lead the choir herself. Regardless, music was the reason for the season for us and we celebrated the season in church.

    Coming home to Texas to live in 2010 has connected me once again with my DNA family, and that’s been an incredible experience that became part of the magic of Christmas for me the last two years. First cousins, second cousins, third cousins once removed and the people they’ve married and their children are good, and a few questionable, surprises for me. Gathering for a cousins’ Christmas potluck luncheon, going with cousins to the Montgomery Annual Cookie Walk, having cousins come to our home or visiting in their homes rekindled good memories of the times when our hair wasn’t white, our figures were slimmer and the great-grandparents at the table weren’t us. I see these relatives and I am a part of them; I feel good to belong to them at Christmas. Our conversations honor and celebrate our heritage and the ones who are no longer with us. We laughed and cried together because we were moved by our memories. This family was a Christmas gift.

    But just as the traditional story goes of the Wise Men who followed a bright light to Bethlehem bringing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the baby boy in the manger, Wise Women in my life  brought gifts that rocked my Christmas complacency. My wife surprised me with an early gift at Thanksgiving when I went home to her in South Carolina. It was worth its weight in gold to me: a western saddle made of leather that now rides a wooden quilt holder a Worsham Street neighbor gave me when she saw the saddle. Whenever I look at the saddle, I think of two of my favorite things, my wife who knew me well enough to buy this treasure for me and my days of riding horses as a child. I feel the love of the giver of this perfect gift.

    Frankincense was used in ancient times for medicinal and calming purposes including treatment for depression. Burning frankincense was also thought to carry prayers to heaven by people in those days.  One of the Wise Women in my life gave me my own version of frankincense last week when she bought a plane ticket to South Carolina for me to be with my wife for Christmas. I marvel at this generosity from a friend who surely loved me, a friend who chased away the potential Christmas blues. This gift came from prayers to heaven that were unasked but answered on the wings of a snow white dove called US Airways and the spirit that is the magic of Christmas in the heart of my friend.

    Myrrh is an Arabic word for bitter and it is the resin that comes from a tree that grows in the semi-desert regions of Africa and the Red Sea.  The Chinese used it for centuries to treat wounds and bruises and bleeding. The Egyptians used myrrh as an embalming oil for their mummies. Yesterday I received another gift that reminded me of myrrh – not the bitterness nor the embalming properties – but the unexpected present was a live blooming cactus plant that arrived at my house via a congenial UPS driver who I believe thought he was Santa Claus. When I opened the box and removed the moss packing per the enclosed instructions, I was stunned by the beauty of the pink blooms and the deep rich green of the plant. The gift came from another Wise Woman who is married to my cousin in Rosenberg, Texas and was an additional reminder of the magic that lives in Christmas. Every day I’ll see these blooms and think of my cousins who sent them with the healing power beauty affords us when we take a moment to consider it. I’ve always loved a Christmas cactus.

    Gold, frankincense and myrrh with a 21st century twist. The Christmas story of Mary and Joseph’s plight in the manger in Bethlehem has been told and re-told for thousands of years. Regardless of your belief, it is a tender tale of a family who welcomed a baby boy into a world of conflict and hardship but hoped he would somehow change it for the better. The same conflicts continue two thousand years later with hardships of every shape and description that continue to plague our families today, but we move on.  Sometimes forward, sometimes backward. But onward we go. And in this spirit of hope for a better world where peace becomes the norm and hardships are made more bearable, I abandon my Bah, Humbug for a trip to the Cookie Walk.

    picking just the right cookies at the Christmas Cookie Walk

                                                                       ******************

    I published this piece for the first time in December, 2011. Today is December 07th which became a significant one in American history with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 that prompted America’s participation in WWII. My dad and his brother believed their bombs would fulfill the promise of a world where peace became the norm, but 78 years later the bombs continue. Hanukkah – Chanukah begins tonight at a particularly significant time during the Israel-Hamas War, a 21st. century tragedy of our inhumanity to each other as we still look for Wise Men and Women to lead us to peace.

    these little Texas boys served in Europe during WWII –

    their older sister waited for them to come home

  • a man of letters – season 2 – episode 2

    a man of letters – season 2 – episode 2


    My dad’s mother, Betha Day Robinson Morris, was born October 23, 1903. In October of 1964 my thirty-nine-year-old father wrote a birthday letter to his mother who lived in Richards, Texas (eighty miles north of where he lived in Richmond, Texas). I call this one of my daddy’s deep in the heart moments – I can picture my grandmother’s tears when she read this from her youngest of three grown children. She was the one who treasured the words he wrote; I found this letter after her death in 1983.

    My personal favorite line in this letter is “You know when you have people who believe in you, you hate to let them down.”

    Daddy and Mama were thrilled about getting their first home together in 1964. They had eloped in 1945 when he returned from England at the end of WWII; I was born in 1946 ten months later. We lived in Richards with my maternal grandmother in her home that was less than a minute walk from my dad’s parents until I was thirteen years old. When my parents and I moved away from Richards, we lived in rental houses in Brazoria, Texas for five years. They moved to another rental house in Richmond when I left for college; Daddy and Mama got jobs in the school district there.

    The American dream was alive and well in the fall of 1964.

    Daddy and my grandmother at the back steps of her home circa 1943

    Does anyone have a favorite line in the letter?

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    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

  • the truth tellers

    the truth tellers


    At a press conference following her loss in the finals at Wimbledon in 2019, Serena Williams was questioned about why she lost. Although she tried to say her opponent played a brilliant match, the members of the press wouldn’t let it go. They asked her if she thought her lack of match play during the year had hurt her, whether her role as a mother took too much time away from her tennis, and finally someone said they wondered if she spent too much time supporting equal rights or other political issues. Serena’s quick response to that question was “The day I stop supporting equality is the day I die.”

    I can identify with her answer because I believe my actions to support equality and social justice are two of the dominant forces of my life, but alas, I lack the tennis skills that give Serena Williams a universally recognized platform. Writing has been my platform for supporting equal rights during the past seventeen years; it has been the curtain call for the third act of my life – my love affair with words: collecting, rearranging, caressing them to make sense of an ever-changing world. Flannery O’Connor said I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I write. I get that because I can start with a feeling, but sometimes my thoughts trail along behind my words that come from a mysterious place yet to be revealed.

    This poster given to me by my friend Linda many years ago hangs in my office today with words from author Anne Lamott to writers about why they write. “It is as if the right words, the true words, are already inside of them, and they just want to help them get out.” The true words I release, however, are not necessarily everyone’s truth. I have learned over the years that truth is not an absolute for every person but rather a fluid concept capable of manipulating minds at odds with what I believe truth to be. For example, remember Kelly Anne Conway’s remarkable explanation of “alternative facts.” Those two words took America on a roller coast ride of a reality show called Believe It or Not DC Style for the past eight years, and unbelievably created a deep wedge that pit family members, friends, co-workers, even institutions against each other with no sign of relief in next year’s political environment.

    Truth telling may be a lost art, truth tellers may bend with the winds, but fundamental values of equality and social justice must not be either lost or warped. As Serena said, the day I stop supporting equality is the day I die.

    And I ain’t ready to go yet. Onward.

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    For the children.

  • Eleanor Rosalynn Smith Carter (1927 – 2023)

    Eleanor Rosalynn Smith Carter (1927 – 2023)


    Rosalynn Carter was an American activist and writer who served as First Lady of the United States from 1977 – 1981 during the presidency of her husband Jimmy Carter, the 39th. President of the United States. She was born August 18, 1927 in Plains, Georgia and died November 19, 2023 in Plains, Georgia.

    Christmas card from the Carters in 2019

    Rosalynn’s name always first on their Christmas card signatures

    Emily Burack compiled tributes from five First Ladies of the United States for Town and Country Magazine in an article published November 20, 2023. The following quotes are excerpts from two of them.

    “First Lady Rosalynn Carter walked her own path, inspiring a nation and the world along the way. Throughout her incredible life as First Lady of Georgia and the First Lady of the United States, Rosalynn did so much to address many of society’s greatest needs. She was a champion for equal rights and opportunities for women and girls; an advocate for mental health and wellness for every person; and a supporter of the often unseen and uncompensated caregivers of our children, aging loved ones, and people with disabilities…Above all, the deep love shared between Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter is the definition of partnership, and their humble leadership is the definition of patriotism. She lived her life by her faith…” (joint statement by Dr. Jill Biden and President Joe Biden)

    “Today, Barack and I join the world in celebrating the remarkable legacy of a First Lady, philanthropist, and advocate who dedicated her life to lifting up others. Her life is a reminder that no matter who we are, our legacies are best measured not in awards or accolades, but in the lives we touch. We send our thoughts and prayers to Jimmy and the entire Carter family during this difficult time.” (Michelle Obama)

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    Turning to face my fear, I meet the warrior who lives within, wrote Jennifer Welwood. Our nation has lost a warrior woman whose courage and commitment to service will inspire future generations of Americans. Teresa and I are proud to be a part of her legacy. We will miss the calm wisdom, the awesome strength of Rosalynn Carter. May she rest in the peace she labored to give the world.